


Snow and Ice

by tiptoethrough



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:25:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8308375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoethrough/pseuds/tiptoethrough
Summary: Sometimes Jon isn't sure how to feel about Robb. Sometimes, that's alright.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The characters operate from a position assuming they are half-brothers so warning for incest.
> 
> This is an old piece. I'm slowly transferring my works over from another archive so I can delete the account there.

  
Some nights Robb made Jon feel brave. The touch of his calloused hands were like the sharp, icy sting of a winter storm, and they filled him with an exhilaration unlike anything else; not the surge of glory and competition he felt in the drill yard, or the thrill of the ground flying beneath his feet as he swept like a shadow through the godswood, not even the warmth in his chest when his lord father would ruffle his hair in approval could make Jon feel quite so empowered as he did with Robb. The heat blazing in Robb’s eyes was like a sword in the darkness, one that Jon knew was his and his alone to yield.

  
Some nights Robb made Jon hate himself. Jon would wonder what would happen if they were caught, wondering only so that he could pretend he didn’t _know_ that the blame would fall to him, that he would be forced from Winterfell and the topic never spoken of again. He never cried, but shame would rise in him like bile, pungent and thick, and Jon would sob, once, twice, twice only before Robb pulled him down close to smother sobs with his lips. Always Robb stopped him after the second painful hitch of his breath.  
  
  
Some nights Jon wondered why. Some nights Jon thought he knew; Robb let him express his shame once for himself, and once for Robb. The gods knew Robb wasn’t doing any sobbing during their trysts. Robb was always stoic and silent below him, hands a vice grip on Jon’s hips as he moved slowly in and out of him from below. That was still strange to Jon after all this time. It was Robb who had the voice of Winterfell, after all, and Jon who was condemned to a bastard’s silence, as if ice had encased his throat. But Robb’s silence was the fire that burns against the cold of Jon’s bastardy– he kept quiet, Jon knew, only to give him the space to say whatever he wanted.  
  


Some nights Jon said, "I love you," and some nights he said, "fuck me _harder_ , Robb," and some nights he only managed a single, broken protestation against something he couldn’t name. But it was always worth it.  


Some nights Jon didn’t know how to feel about Robb. Some nights he wondered if that was a crime that could be forgiven. Some nights, that was okay.  


Most nights, Robb just made Jon feel like a Stark, a winter lord of the ice world. Robb didn’t _endure_ Jon, didn’t love him with the reservation of a trueborn sibling regarding a lesser bastard, didn’t call him Snow, didn’t hesitate to reach out. Robb took from Jon everything and anything he could with the ease that only family does, with the safe warmth of a brother who knows you will give everything in return.

  
And one night, Robb slipped into Jon’s room later than usual, eyes haunted and wild. He held Jon to the bed while he kissed a hot trail across his body, for once not letting Jon roll them over so he could be on top. Robb hovered above him for once so far from collected, and when he was done he kissed his eyelids, once, twice, his lips a brush of cold ice on Jon’s face... twice, and then he stood and left as abruptly as he’d come.  
  


Jon’s ride to the Wall the next morning was long and hard and cold. When the letter came so far in the future, Jon stared at the words on the page and looked out over the snowy dark land below. He sobbed twice but never cried, couldn’t cry. On the wall tears froze before they rolled down your cheeks, and Jon had no more need of ice. He had found it in abundance.


End file.
